


The Claws of the Furies

by CalicoCatMom



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Past Abuse, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Furies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoCatMom/pseuds/CalicoCatMom
Summary: Jason looked Pythagoras in the eyes. “… are you still being haunted by the Furies?”Pythagoras couldn’t meet Jason’s gaze for long. He nodded.“But Arcas called them off!” Hercules protested. “They should be long gone!”“Apparently they’re not,” Jason replied.





	1. Still Haunted

His grip was slipping.

Pythagoras clung for his life to the rock jutting from the floor of the cave, while the whirlwind of the Furies pulled his legs into the air and whipped desert dust into his face. 

Jason and Hercules were trying to get to him, but the Furies kept them out of reach.

Only his brother Arcas stood aloof, arms crossed, watching with the coldest eyes he had ever seen, eyes that matched his father’s.

Pythagoras’ fingers tore loose from the rock, and with a gasp he tumbled excruciatingly slowly upward into the storm. He closed his eyes as the tornado engulfed him and the Furies shrieked in his ears.

It was over. The best that could happen to him now would be for a flying piece of debris to knock him senseless so he wouldn’t have to feel what the Furies were about to do to him.

Jason. Hercules. He wanted his last thoughts to be of them, the best friends he’d ever had, the people he cared most for in the world, the people who had tried to save him even after they knew the very worst about him.

However, he couldn’t banish from his mind the image of Arcas, aloof, arms crossed, watching him dying with the coldest eyes he had ever seen, eyes that matched his father’s.

 

Pythagoras jolted upright. It took a moment to absorb that he was in fact in his own bed surrounded by a tranquil night. With shaky hands he began disentangling his blanket and tried to stop panting. He was at home with his friends, the Furies were no longer after him, Arcas had stayed in Helios, and it was all just another bloody nightmare. They were getting worse. This one had to be the most vivid he had ever endured. He had physically felt a sickening swooping in his stomach as he was swept into the maelstrom in the dream.

He’d been hyperventilating and now felt dizzy. Pythagoras sat very still and closed his eyes for a moment until the room stopped spinning.   
The house remained quiet. Thank goodness he hadn’t disturbed his housemates. He was supposed to be over the whole episode with the Furies, and he didn’t want his friends to fuss.

Pythagoras lay back down again, and tried to get comfortable, but as exhausted as he was, he doubted he’d get any more sleep tonight.

 

Someone was calling his name and shaking him awake. 

He had eventually fallen back asleep after all.

It didn’t feel like it had been for long though.

Pythagoras groaned and opened his eyes to see both Jason and Hercules standing at his bedside, looking concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“We’re wanting to ask you that,” Hercules returned. “We’ve already been to the market and to make the final arrangements for tonight’s job!”

“You’re joking!”

“No, he’s not,” Jason said. “You look terrible. Are you ill?” Jason reached toward Pythagoras’ forehead to check for fever.

Pythagoras waved the attempt away and sat up. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“That’s what you’ve said for the past several days,” Jason observed. 

“I’m fine,” Pythagoras repeated, trying not to sound testy. 

Jason raised a skeptical eyebrow, but let Pythagoras get up and join them in preparing to guard a ceramics merchant’s storeroom that night. Pythagoras knew his friends would be watching him. He was touched by their solicitude, but right now he could feel himself blushing that he’d overslept so badly, and he didn’t want to explain about the nightmares. He went to splash some cold water on his face. That did help somewhat.

 

Right before he and his friends left for their night of employment, Pythagoras surreptitiously swallowed a dose of one of his own herbal tonics to give himself some energy. By the time they reached their destination, he felt almost normal, and able to joke around with his friends like usual. The night passed uneventfully.

The tonic was wearing off as the trio made their way home in the morning, their pockets a bit fuller than they had been. An icy wind needled the back of Pythagoras’ neck. He ignored it as best he could and tried to concentrate on the funny story Hercules was telling.

They arrived home. Pythagoras reached for the door – and stopped cold.

A dead songbird lay right on their threshold.

It looked just like the one they had seen outside the Furies’ desert cave the morning after Arcas had invoked them.

Pythagoras’ breath caught, and he shivered.

“What’s wrong?” Hercules asked.

“Nothing.” Pythagoras mentally shook himself and pushed the door open. The timing of this incident with his nightmares had to be coincidence. The bird could have simply been left by one of the feral cats that prowled the area, and Arcas had called the Furies off, hadn’t he?

The thought did not alleviate the chill spreading through Pythagoras’ veins.

 

The following morning Pythagoras woke early. He’d had an uninterrupted night but still didn’t feel anywhere close to rested. He forced himself up anyway.

When he emerged from his bedchamber, he was startled to see his two housemates waiting for him with determined expressions.

“All right, Pythagoras, you need to tell us what’s going on,” Jason insisted. “How many of these nightmares have you had?”

Pythagoras’ mouth fell open. How did Jason know?

“Come on. Sit down, eat some breakfast, and talk to us,” Jason said.

“If you don’t, we’re going to take away your stylus and all your parchments so you can’t draw any triangles for a week!” Hercules declared.

“All right, all right!” Despite his exhaustion Pythagoras couldn’t help a measure of amusement at the mock threat.

The three friends sat at the large wooden table in their main multipurpose room. Jason distributed pieces of bread and fruit.

“These nightmares of yours must be brutal,” Hercules prompted gently.

“Well, yes, they were, but I’m all right now. I didn’t have any last night,” Pythagoras replied.

“Oh, yes you did,” Hercules countered. 

“You woke us both,” Jason added. “You were frantic, yelling something about your father. You would have fallen out of bed if we hadn’t held you.”

“Oh, no. I am sorry.” Pythagoras put his head in his hands. He’d probably been reliving memories of his father’s drunken rages and the beatings that had come with them, or possibly even the horrible night his father died. He shuddered. “I can’t remember any of what I dreamed,” he admitted, truly thankful for the fact. 

“We tried to wake you, but we couldn’t,” Jason continued. He held up a small, and familiar, vial. “This was under your bed. You drugged yourself last night, didn’t you, with one of your own sedatives?”

“All right, yes, I did.”

“How often have you done that?”

“Just the once. It seems it has actually made things worse, so I won’t do it again.”

“Good.” Jason clapped him on the upper arm.

“Ow!” Pythagoras yelped, startling his two friends and himself. Surprise quickly became confusion. That should not have hurt. 

His stomach clenched when he discovered a bloodstain on his right sleeve. Gingerly he pulled the fabric back, and if he hadn’t already been seated, he would have fallen over.

Etched painfully into his arm were two symbols. He recognized them as clumsy renderings of the letters tau and phi.

Pythagoras couldn’t breathe.

He now bore the mark branded onto murderers on the island of Samos, where he and Arcas had grown up.

“Don’t move,” Jason told him.

Jason and Hercules scurried to bring water, a clean cloth, salve, and bandages. Pythagoras finally drew in a breath, in a hiss at the sting from their ministrations.

As soon as the wound was tended, Jason looked Pythagoras in the eyes. “The nightmares, that dead bird on the doorstep – don’t tell me that didn’t disturb you - and now these marks on your arm… are you still being haunted by the Furies?”

Pythagoras couldn’t meet Jason’s gaze for long. He nodded.

“But Arcas called them off!” Hercules protested. “They should be long gone!”

“Apparently they’re not,” Jason replied. 

“What can we do?” Hercules asked.

“Let’s go and see the Oracle,” Jason suggested. “If anyone knows what to do, it’ll be her."

 

The trio made their way toward the Temple of Poseidon. In Pythagoras’ case, it was wearily. Just this short distance seemed arduous.

The sky dimmed unnaturally above them as they went.

They almost made it to the Temple before the sound of a great wind rose behind them. When Pythagoras and his friends looked uneasily back, there in the street, brought to life out of his worst fears, whirled the Furies’ tornado. People were panicking, ducking, dropping whatever they were carrying, and fleeing.

“Run!” Jason yelled. 

Pythagoras froze even as Hercules vanished from his peripheral vision. It was all happening again – others were in danger from the Furies because of him. This time it wasn’t even only his friends, though that had been quite horrific enough. Were the Furies so determined in pursuing him that they would obliterate a city full of innocents?

Pythagoras could not let that happen.

Just as he had in the cave in the desert, he knew what he had to do. For Jason, for Hercules, for Atlantis. He tried to steel himself to face his nightmares. 

He had only taken one step toward the Furies before Jason grabbed his unwounded arm. “Pythagoras! What are you doing? Come on!”

Pythagoras tried to pull away.

Jason instead pulled him back. “Don’t you dare even think about sacrificing yourself!” he shouted over the rising winds. "Didn’t we go through this before? I’ll drag you into the Temple if I have to! Now run!” 

Jason pushed Pythagoras ahead of him, and they both sprinted for the Temple steps.

The Furies followed as far as the courtyard, which they then began to ravage. Dust and debris flew everywhere. The Furies’ unearthly wails echoed eerily.

 

Hercules, Jason, and Pythagoras scrambled into the Temple. Almost immediately they met the Oracle and High Priest Melas, who were both hurrying to find out what was happening. The servants of Poseidon looked in horror at the Furies’ violent manifestation outside. Melas slammed the Temple door.

“We ask for sanctuary!” Jason cried, seeing that his friends were both still too breathless to speak. 

The Oracle zeroed in on Pythagoras and his bandaged arm immediately. “I see that you are the one touched by the Furies,” she said without preamble.

“Yes!” Pythagoras gasped. 

“They accuse you of murder.”

“It was an accident!” Pythagoras blurted. He hesitated, then told her what he could not when he had seen her before the trip to Helios. “I killed my father, years ago. I didn’t mean to! All I wanted was for him to stop beating my mother! He was terribly drunk again that night, and he said he would kill her! I tried to intervene, and he started hitting me. I was twelve years old and terrified… He knocked me to the floor, and then came at me again as I tried to get up. I panicked and pushed him away, and he was so drunk that he fell over… He hit his head on the edge of the hearth… He was bleeding so badly that we couldn’t save him, even though Mother and I both tried…” Pythagoras attempted to gulp down a sob. “My brother Arcas never knew until recently… He invoked the Furies… but then he stopped them, or we thought he did.”

“Yet they still pursue you.”

Pythagoras wiped his eyes on his unbloodied sleeve. “Yes! Why won’t they leave me alone?”

The Oracle raised her hands to touch his face, her fingertips gentle and maternal upon his temples. Somehow he found this soothing, as if she were conveying the peace of Poseidon quieting the sea through her hands. Maybe she was. Her opaque dark eyes looked kindly but penetratingly into his crystalline blue ones for a long moment. Then she stepped back, her expression compassionate. “Your brother did not stop the Furies properly. They do not understand why you should not suffer their wrath and punishment.”

“How do we tell them?” Jason asked urgently. “He doesn’t deserve this!”

Pythagoras’ head drooped, and not entirely from fatigue. He wished he could be as sure as Jason of his inculpability.

The Oracle lifted his chin with her fingertips. “Jason is right. It is not wrong to defend yourself and your family. Your voyage of the soul that I spoke to you of before should have been completed.” She then said to all three of them, “Sanctuary is granted.”

“Thank you,” Pythagoras said. “We are grateful.”

Everyone jumped as the winds outside crescendoed and several heavy objects crashed against the door. Had the Furies just flung some debris in a swell of rage? Pythagoras saw the question in everyone’s eyes, but no one voiced it.

Jason’s face then lit up with an idea. “What if Hercules and I went back to Helios and found Arcas?” he suggested. “He can still stop the Furies, can’t he?”

The Oracle got a faraway look for a moment, but then replied, shaking her head, “He is no longer there. I clearly see him passing through the city gate. You will not find him.”

“What if we did? Which direction did he go?”

“Even if you were to find him, there is another factor.” The Oracle turned to Pythagoras again. “The Furies have gotten a taste of your blood, twice now, and as with stymphalian birds, it has maddened them. They are beyond listening to any human pleas.”

"Then what can we do? There’s got to be something!” Jason persisted. 

Before the Oracle could answer, none other than King Minos of Atlantis burst in from somewhere at the back of the Temple. There were rumors that the royal family had a secret passage from the palace to the Temple; perhaps he had just used it. In full blue and gold court regalia and his royal crown, Minos stormed in with almost as much fury as the Furies. Trailing in his wake came balding, doughy Cilix, also in court robes and the heavy gold medallion of his office as Head of the Royal Council. Everyone hastily bowed to both of them.

“What in the name of the gods is going on?!” the king demanded. “Why are the Furies tearing up the courtyard, causing panic, and interrupting important royal business?!” He rounded on Pythagoras, Hercules, and Jason. “You three! I recognize you; you’ve caused trouble before! I have more than half a mind to give you over to the Furies right now!”

“Your Majesty,” Melas put in, “They have been granted sanctuary.”

“And why in Poseidon’s name is that?!”

“There are unusual circumstances.”

“And what are these circumstances, pray?”

The Oracle closed her eyes for several long moments. Then she came out of her trance and said, “The gods have spoken. Your Majesty may hear the circumstances before long.” She then turned to Pythagoras. “There is a possible way you might be freed.” She hesitated. “You can attempt the path of Orestes.”

“Where’s that?” Jason asked.

“Not where; who.” Hercules, silent until now, answered dourly. “Orestes is the only person known to have gotten the Furies off his back without their summoner calling them off.”

“How?”

Hercules replied, still dourly, “From what I’ve heard, it wasn’t easy.”

The Oracle nodded her agreement. “Orestes had killed his mother in retribution after she had killed his father. The Furies pursued him until he took refuge in the Temple of Athena. The gods, who are greater and more powerful than the Furies, put him on trial there in the Athenian manner. Ultimately Athena judged that his was the lesser crime and set Orestes free.”

Pythagoras hesitantly met her eyes. Perhaps there was cause for some hope.

She continued, “Poseidon is willing to judge your case, if His Majesty will administer justice as his envoy.”

“All right, I’ll do it, just to make the Furies go away,” the king decided. 

“Are you sure that’s wise, Your Majesty?” Cilix asked. “Who is this scrawny little redheaded peasant to take up a lot of Your Majesty’s valuable time with a trial? There is so much yet to be done in the Council. Furthermore, it might set a precedent that would embolden murderers. Why not just let the Furies have their justice?”

Pythagoras’ heart sank nearly to despair. Rank, wealth, and connections figured heavily into the king’s justice, and Pythagoras had none. The king would likely listen to Cilix and dismiss Pythagoras as a nobody. Then the Furies would make his nightmares come true.

Minos considered for a heart-stopping moment. Then he said, “He has sanctuary that cannot be violated, and the Oracle says Poseidon wishes this trial.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Oracle confirmed.

“The trial will take place tomorrow at midday,” the king ordered, and with that swept off to the back of the Temple where he had entered from.

Cilix did not follow. Instead he seemed drawn toward the massive main Temple doors, still rattling against the Furies’ onslaught. No one dared censure the Head of the Royal Council, so they all held their breath as Cilix boldly pushed one of the heavy doors open. He stood frozen at the threshold as the dark tornado raged and howled before him, sending wind and dust into the Temple.

Then abruptly he turned back and approached the others, letting the door bang closed again behind him. A strange light was in his eyes. “I have been chosen by the Furies as their advocate for the trial,” he said, his tone somewhere between proud and awestruck. He regarded Pythagoras with unadulterated contempt. “They told me what you did. They will have justice, murderer!” With that Cilix departed the same way as the king.

Pythagoras realized he was shaking when Jason and Hercules each put a bracing hand on one of his shoulders.

Hercules asked, “If the Furies are going to have Cilix argue their case for them, who will speak for Pythagoras?”

“I’ll do it,” Jason volunteered. “It’ll be all right, Pythagoras,” he said. “We’re going to exonerate you once and for all. Hercules and I will show that you don’t deserve this, and that even Arcas thought so…” 

As Jason continued his optimistic chatter, Pythagoras caught a look that passed between Hercules and the Oracle, one that he didn’t understand. Hercules gave a tiny nod.

The Oracle said to Jason, “I must ask something else of you instead. As one who is touched by the gods, you are eligible to do this task.”

“What is it? I’d do anything to save my friend.”

“The Furies have been maddened by the taste of blood. They are overstepping their role. They must be calmed by the cleansing and purifying of the altar where they were summoned, in their cave in the desert between here and Helios.”

“I’m willing to do it, but I don’t know the ritual.”

“The priests will provide you with a scroll of instructions and the necessary offerings.”

“Okay. I’ll go pack for a couple of days in the desert, then, and hire a horse with the wages we just earned,” Jason decided. Hercules winced at that but said nothing. Jason continued, “Pythagoras, no matter what Cilix says, you are still not a murderer, and we will win this trial!” Pythagoras nodded, and Jason headed for the side door away from the Furies.

Once Jason was out of earshot, Hercules asked Pythagoras, “Shall I speak for you, then?”

Before Pythagoras could accept, the Oracle said, “No, Hercules, you are needed as a witness. You cannot be both witness and defender.” 

“I will speak for you,” Melas offered. “It was a brave thing you did, and what happened should not be called murder.” 

“Thank you,” Pythagoras said, managing a small, relieved smile. Melas was logical, eloquent, devout, and kind. He also held a powerful enough position to have the king’s consideration, and he valued both the truth and the lives of the people of Atlantis. 

“I must be honest with you,” the priest warned. “If you were a member of the court or of the wealthy classes, you would have a strong case for this trial. As it is… I will do everything I can for you, but I fear the king sees the whole situation as a nuisance, and he may decide upon expediency rather than justice, whatever we do.”

Pythagoras couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat, so he just nodded.

Hercules put an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Then we’ll just need to find a way to make it expedient for him to set you free.”

Melas agreed. “That is what we must do.”

Pythagoras belatedly realized something. “Wait a minute,” he said. “The Furies’ cave is a full day away, and the trial is tomorrow. Jason isn’t going to get back in time!” 

Hercules gave him that look that said he was being naïve. “Jason has been sent away so that he doesn’t end up doing you more harm than good.”

“What?” Pythagoras’ sleep-deprived mind couldn’t fathom how that might happen. 

“Think about it. I can’t fault him for his loyalty in supporting you, but he’s both impulsive and oblivious to the customs concerning contact with the upper crust. Remember what happened when he stood up to Lord Heptarian right there in the street in front of everyone?”

“Vividly. We all ended up in chains and sentenced to the bull-court!”

“Exactly. This is one of those times when Jason’s way of trying to do the right thing is likely to make things worse. He’s liable to be so enthusiastic to defend you that he’ll speak out of turn and infuriate the king, and then where will you be?”

“Oh.” Pythagoras paused. “What about the ritual he’s doing?”

“The ritual is real. The Furies will not listen, but it can do no harm, even if Jason makes mistakes,” the Oracle assured him.

Pythagoras sighed. “I suppose we shouldn’t ever tell him.”

“No,” Hercules, the Oracle, and Melas said together. “Definitely not,” the Oracle added.


	2. The Path of Orestes

Hercules woke the next morning wrapped in blankets on the floor of a side chamber of the Temple. Not having a hangover was nice. Breakfast was likely to be better than meager portions of bread and fruit, too. He and his friends should seek sanctuary in the Temple more often! 

Pythagoras slept a short distance away, curled up on his side with his back to Hercules, his red hair sticking out from under the dark brown blanket he had pulled up over his ears.

Last night Pythagoras had apologetically warned him as they prepared for sleep that he might have another nightmare, but Hercules realized that he hadn’t heard a whimper out of the lad. The sanctuary of the Temple must have prevented the Furies from reaching him.

Someone knocked on the door. Hercules quietly opened it to admit Melas, who told him, “The king is in the audience chamber and orders that the trial begin.”

Hercules’ eyebrows rose. “It’s not even close to midday. We haven’t even had breakfast yet.“

“Yes, I know. We must hurry. The Furies kept His Majesty awake all last night with their screeching, and he is not in a good mood.”

“I see. I’ll rouse Pythagoras, and we’ll be ready in a moment.” Hercules started putting on his sandals and called, “Pythagoras, wake up. It’s time for your trial.”

He expected a sleepy groan in reply, but it did not come.

“Oi, Pythagoras! Time to get up!”

Pythagoras still did not stir.

Hercules frowned. His young friend was ordinarily a light sleeper. Hercules never could avoid waking him when returning home late from the tavern. “Pythagoras?” Hercules repeated, and drew closer – but then he froze, horrified.

Although the mathematician’s serene expression made him just look blissfully asleep, the paleness of his skin and the large bloodstain now apparent on his blanket said otherwise.

Hercules whipped off the blanket. The wound on Pythagoras’ arm had reopened during the night, and he had lost a truly alarming amount of blood. The sleeve of his tunic was in tatters, as if shredded by a ferocious animal’s claws.

“The Furies…?” Melas wondered softly.

“Oh, no…” Hercules whispered. A brief touch of his hand to his friend’s heart reassured him that Pythagoras was breathing, though shallowly, and had a steady, though too rapid, heartbeat. Since their stay at the Temple was unplanned, Pythagoras had not brought his bag of healer’s supplies. Hercules and Melas therefore bound Pythagoras’ wound as best they could with fabric torn from the already ruined blanket, and then went in hasty search of the Oracle. She had healing skills, Hercules thought; she ought to have some bandages somewhere!

She was not difficult to find, and soon Pythagoras lay in the Temple infirmary with his feet elevated and a clean blanket over him. The Oracle chanted a healing incantation and dressed Pythagoras’ arm with herbal ointments and a thick bandage. 

“This is a violation of sanctuary!” Melas growled as he paced the room. “The Furies are out of control!”

A weak moan interrupted him. Hercules and Melas hurried to Pythagoras’ side. “He’s coming around,” the Oracle said, still working her ministrations. “The bleeding has stopped; the rest will just take time.”

“He’ll be all right, then?” Hercules asked anxiously.

The Oracle nodded. “As long as he rests, and eats properly to replace all the blood he lost.”

“Letting him rest is going to be a problem,” Hercules observed.

Pythagoras opened his eyes. “Hercules. Oracle. Melas,” he managed.

“That’s right,” Hercules told him. “And before you ask what happened, the Furies attacked you in the night through that mark on your arm, and you’ve lost a lot of blood. The Oracle has saved you.”

“Thank you,” Pythagoras murmured.

“How are you feeling?”

Pythagoras closed his eyes briefly. “Tired. Lightheaded. Cold. And my arm hurts.” 

He certainly looked dazed, and the fact that Pythagoras had actually admitted to his symptoms meant that he must feel absolutely awful. Under most circumstances he would have said he was fine even if he wasn’t. It was as if the healer in him felt ashamed or guilty if he needed care himself. Hercules had seen it before.

A young acolyte entered and diffidently approached Melas. “Sir, the king is getting impatient…”

“Thank you,” Melas replied. “We’re on our way now.”

The child darted away.

“It’s time for the trial?” Pythagoras asked.

“Yes. We’re going to have to get you up,” Melas told him.

“Can’t we just carry him in there?” Hercules asked. 

“We can carry him until we’re outside the audience chamber,” Melas replied. “If we carry him inside, it will either look like he is unwilling to come to trial, which would be an affront to the king, or that his injuries from the Furies indicate his guilt.”

“But that’s a load of rubbish!”

“Yes, but that’s how it is. He needs to walk in on his own.”

The Oracle wordlessly handed Melas a jar of smelling salts from her bag of medical supplies, which the priest tucked into his robes. He then looked at Hercules again. “We don’t have any choice.”

Hercules nodded grimly, and lifted his mathematician friend in his arms. Pythagoras did not protest.

Melas was frowning, thinking hard as they walked. They were taking a roundabout route to avoid the Furies’ storm. “I think I want to try a different opening strategy than we discussed yesterday,” he said. 

“What do you want to do?” Hercules asked.

The dark look the priest had worn earlier returned. “Try to get the whole trial stopped since the Furies violated your sanctuary.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“There is some chance. Just… take your time and be thorough when you tell about what happened.”

Hercules grinned. “Nothing could be easier. I’m well known for my storytelling skills.”

“Be careful,” Melas warned. “Don’t embellish. Cilix is cunning, and he will latch onto the smallest inconsistency or exaggeration to challenge your credibility.”

Hercules grumbled, but said, “All right.”

As they neared their destination, Melas signed to Hercules to stop. The corridor was empty. “Can you walk now?” the priest asked Pythagoras softly. 

“I can manage,” Pythagoras panted.

Hercules set Pythagoras on his feet. He stood less than steadily, but he stood. 

Melas opened the ornate door before them.

 

The moment Hercules entered the royal audience chamber, he felt it exude an atmosphere of tension and danger. Many of the members of the royal court and royal council in attendance fidgeted uncomfortably. 

King Minos glowered as Melas took his place and Hercules helped Pythagoras into a chair. Queen Pasiphae and Princess Ariadne, enthroned on either side of the king, both gazed outward with a studied impassivity. 

Cilix glided forward. “Ah, the defense has finally seen fit to appear,” he observed. “We have all been waiting for over an hour! We were beginning to wonder if the accused had tried to flee from justice in the night.” He looked the three of them up and down. “Is that blood all over your clothing? Have you no respect for His Majesty that you come to his court in such a state?”

Startled, Hercules looked down at himself. He’d been so focused on saving Pythagoras’ life that he hadn’t noticed the bloodstains on his tunic. He felt a pang for his friend, and his eyes narrowed at the distaste on Cilix’s face. The councilman had not even asked why they were all bloodstained; he’d just fastidiously rebuked them. It was one of the coldest things Hercules had ever heard, and over the years he had heard a lot.

Melas spoke up and addressed his words to the king. “Sire, my apologies for our delay and for the state in which we appear. The reason for it is because the defendant was seriously injured during the night, and we were in haste to tend him, and then to bring him here at your request. As you can see, he has not fled. He has been lying semiconscious in the Temple infirmary.” The priest’s eyes flashed. “Your Majesty, I petition that the Furies’ accusations and this whole trial be dismissed, on account of Pythagoras’ injury was caused by the Furies attacking him in violation of Temple sanctuary!”

The king’s brows rose in surprise. “What exactly happened to him?”

“The Furies reopened a wound they had inflicted on his arm while he was sleeping. By this morning he had nearly bled to death.”

“Do you have a witness to this alleged attack?” Cilix asked.

“Yes,” Melas answered. “Hercules?” He gestured for the wrestler to come forward.

Hercules obliged. He followed Melas’ instruction to take his time, and told the entire story from when Jason started to suspect that the Furies were still pursuing Pythagoras.

Cilix looked unimpressed when Hercules finished. “Everything you have said about the actual attack, which is what you were asked about, is from this morning, after the supposed fact,” he observed. “Did you actually see the Furies attack him during the night?”

“No,” Hercules admitted, “but what else could it have been?”

“Why would the Furies do such a thing? They have no motive. They have only to wait for His Majesty’s judgement for what they want. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It wouldn’t have to. The Oracle said they are maddened by the taste of his blood.”

“Did she really?”

“She cannot lie.”

“No, she cannot, but she says herself that the gods do not allow her to see everything, and how often has what she says been misinterpreted?”

“I grant you that she often talks in riddles, but this time she was quite direct.”

“Even if all of this is so, it still remains that you did not see the Furies attack your little friend. No one did.” Cilix turned to face King Minos. “Your Majesty, the defense has no proof of any violation of sanctuary by the Furies. I move that we proceed with the trial as planned.”

Minos nodded. “The trial will proceed. Let’s get on with it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Cilix bowed obsequiously. “It so happens that the accused is the person I most need to question.” He looked at Pythagoras in a way Hercules could only describe as predatory. 

“The accused will come forward,” the king ordered.

Pythagoras slowly rose from his chair, and Melas assisted him across the room. Before they reached their goal, however, Pythagoras swayed, nearly overbalanced, and then collapsed in a faint. Melas caught him. Hercules hurriedly brought over a chair, which he and Melas then eased Pythagoras into.

The king regarded them all impatiently. “Wake him up!” he demanded. “I want no further delays!”

Cilix approached Pythagoras and scoffed, “So this is the way you attempt to avoid testifying. How dramatic, and how cowardly.” He suddenly slapped Pythagoras hard, but to no effect except a rapid reddening of the mathematician’s pale cheek.

Hercules had to restrain himself from strangling Cilix right then in front of the entire court. No one treated gentle Pythagoras like that!

Melas intervened as Cilix drew back for another blow. “Your Excellency, this isn’t any kind of trick. It is the result of severe blood loss from his injury. Please, allow me.” He drew out the jar of smelling salts the Oracle had given him, and waved it under Pythagoras’ nose.

With a gasp, Pythagoras jerked awake. For a moment his large blue eyes showed nothing but confusion, but then he oriented himself.

When he saw that Pythagoras had control of his senses again, Cilix towered over him vulture-like. “Since you are clearly not feeling your best at the moment, I will try to make this easy on you,” he said, oozing mock sympathy. “I will just ask you one simple question. Did you kill your father?”

“Yes,” Pythagoras began. “I was protecting my mother –“

“That is all I need,” Cilix interrupted, his eyes gleaming. He turned to address the king. “There we have it, Your Majesty. The accused admits to his crime. I believe we can declare him guilty of murder right now and turn him over to the Furies for justice.”

Pythagoras looked like he was about to faint again. Hercules pushed his friend’s head down between his knees.

Melas stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I don’t believe it is that simple.” 

“Whyever not?” Cilix asked.

“Your Excellency, you asked him if he killed his father.”

“And he responded, ‘yes’. What more do we need?”

“Is all killing murder? Is defending oneself against an attack murder? Are accidents murder? Your Majesty, I submit that what happened the night Pythagoras’ father died constitutes both self-defense and accident.”

“Go on,” the king prompted unenthusiastically.

Melas continued, “Since the defendant is not well enough to give extended testimony, Hercules can tell Your Majesty what happened. He heard it directly from Pythagoras.”

Hercules recounted what his friend had told him of that traumatic night. He spoke more concisely this time, and emphasized how young, fearful, and desperate Pythagoras had been as his own father had beaten his mother and then him, and the accidental nature of his father’s fate.

“Your Majesty”, Cilix said when Hercules was finished, “Can we trust this secondhand account? I have a witness who knows that this man Hercules, as well as the defendant and another of their friends, can be less than trustworthy.”

Cilix gestured, and to Hercules’ surprise, Medios, the rich and successful merchant whose employ had brought about the fateful trip to Helios in the first place, materialized from somewhere in the back of the audience chamber.

“Medios, my friend!” the king smiled. “Come tell us what you know of all this!” 

That greeting did not bode well. Hercules cast an uneasy glance at Melas. The priest’s face remained carefully expressionless.

“Your Majesty!” Medios bowed. Then he launched into angry testimony arguing that Hercules, Pythagoras, and Jason had broken their contract to deliver a chest of gold to another wealthy merchant in Helios, the father of the girl Medios had arranged for his son Philemon to marry. The treasure was intended as the bride price. It had not been delivered and the match not made because Philemon, who had never met his betrothed, had eloped instead with Baucis, a young woman who had traveled across the desert with them. As Medios spoke, the wind from the Furies’ storm gradually built up until by the time he finished it had become a great howling gale. The members of the royal court kept glancing nervously at the door. 

“And that’s how it was, my king,” Medios concluded. “These men cannot be trusted to keep even a binding contract.” He gave Hercules and Pythagoras the same dark look he had given them and Jason when he had threatened to cut off all their fingers if they failed to protect the gold. 

This was completely unfair! Hercules couldn’t stand it any longer. “We returned the gold to you, every last coin, at great personal risk!” he exploded. “What more could we possibly have done?”

“Silence!” shouted the king.

Everyone obeyed. Even the Furies quieted.

The king looked about, surprised. So did Hercules and most of the rest of the assembly.

Melas looked thoughtful. Hercules hoped that was a good sign.

“Thank you, Medios,” the king said after a minute. “You may sit down.”

The merchant bowed and returned to his seat.

Cilix said to Hercules, “In answer to your question, Medios’ son was in your charge as well as the chest of gold. You were to make sure he got to where his father sent him. Instead, you allowed him to betray his father by running off with who knows what kind of woman!”

“How were we supposed to have stopped him?” Hercules demanded. “Philemon is a grown man, and he made his own choice! We were his attendants, yes, and bodyguards as the need arose, but we were not his babysitters!”

“I cannot answer that, because I wasn’t there. I don’t know what means were at your disposal,” Cilix replied, all false innocence. “What I do know is that a son betraying his father is a most terrible immorality, as His Majesty unfortunately knows too well. I submit that anyone who condones it is not to be trusted. I further submit that the defendant by his own admission is guilty of patricide, the ultimate betrayal of his father, and this man condoned that too!”

The king’s expression descended into a scowl, and outside, the Furies bayed their bloodthirstiness.

Hercules knew exactly what Cilix was trying to do: remind the king of his own banished son and the false story of his betrayal that he still believed was true. Hercules saw the light glint off of a tear that had appeared on Pythagoras’ cheek, and he nearly lost his temper completely. “This has nothing to do with Prince Therus and what happened many years ago!” 

“Stop!” King Minos shouted, his voice overpowering Hercules’.

The room fell silent, and once again so did the Furies.

The king looked up in amazement.

Melas quickly addressed him. “Your Majesty has power over the Furies as Poseidon’s emissary. As such, you have the power to bring reason and justice to this whole situation, and the power to do the right thing. Your Majesty, the Furies are out of control! Hercules was telling the truth. I also saw this morning what he testified to regarding Pythagoras’ injury. I also heard the Oracle say that the Furies are maddened by the taste of his blood. If you choose not to accept Hercules’ word, then Your Majesty, please accept mine. If you further choose not to accept my word, then I ask you to summon the Oracle, for her word is Poseidon’s.”

The king did not reply, but Hercules could see that he did not want to summon the Oracle.

Melas continued. “The Furies wrongfully tried last night to take their vengeance upon Pythagoras before his trial. Hercules and I and the Oracle are all convinced of it. They disregarded Poseidon’s directive and would not wait to hear Your Majesty’s judgement. This was a usurpation of Your Majesty’s authority that must not be allowed! I ask that Your Majesty use your rightful power and strength to restrain the Furies and show the blessed quality of mercy. Pythagoras has already been punished. The Furies have taken blood for blood. The only difference is that he survived. Is that not enough penance for an accident caused by a terrified child? I would also add that if Your Majesty does show mercy, the people will see it as an act of a good king who treats his citizens well. The matter is completely in Your Majesty’s royal hands.” Melas bowed low.

Cilix’s eyes widened in alarm as the king thought this over.

Pythagoras’ eyes widened also in silent, desperate hope.

Hercules barely breathed. One word from the king could mean life or death for Pythagoras. Losing his best friend and housemate was unthinkable.

At length, the king rose. “Cilix,” he said, “You are absolutely right that patricide is not to be tolerated and should be punished severely.”

Cilix grinned in triumph and bowed. “Then Your Majesty, the Furies await your permission to exact justice.” The storm outside roared in anticipation.

An inarticulate, anguished sound wrung from Pythagoras’ throat. Hercules, his mind blank with shock, could only put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

The king ignored them. “However, I do believe Melas that the Furies have overreached their authority. They have violated the sanctuary of Poseidon’s Temple and punished the accused prematurely. I hereby declare that since he has been punished, the Furies have had their justice and must depart.”

Pythagoras slumped forward.

Cilix, for once at a loss for words, seemed to deflate. The excited frenzy audible from the Furies outside died away. 

The hall waited in an indecisive hush.

Finally people were convinced that the Furies had truly gone. “Your Majesty, the favor of Poseidon be upon you for your wise judgement!” Melas exclaimed, bowing again.

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” was all Hercules could say. He bowed as low as he could.

“I am not finished yet!” the king declared. “There is still one more matter to settle in this. Medios, please come forward.”

The merchant obeyed.

“What matter is that, Your Majesty?” Melas asked.

“The matter of Medios’ broken business contract! I sentence the two of you and your absent associate to a month of indenture to Medios, beginning the first of next month!”

“What?!” Hercules exclaimed.

Medios smiled at him malevolently.

“One month of indenture! I will hear no objections!” the king ordered. “Everyone is dismissed!”

 

After profusely thanking Melas and the Oracle and making as generous a donation to the Temple as he could, Hercules carried Pythagoras home and put him to bed. As he changed the bandage on his friend’s arm and elevated his feet the way the Oracle had, Hercules grimly wondered what kind of work Medios would force them all to do once the indenture started. No doubt the filthiest, most strenuous, and most difficult labors he could conceive. The man could certainly hold a grudge! Hercules grumbled as he pulled the blanket over his sleeping friend. He doubted Pythagoras had been conscious to hear the judgement. He’d have to be told, and Jason too as soon as he got back. Hercules was not looking forward to it.

The moment he finished tending Pythagoras, the exhaustion hit him. Hercules ended up falling asleep in his chair at his friend’s bedside.

 

Hercules startled awake as Jason burst in the door early the next morning, sweaty and travel-stained. Still groggy and rather stiff from sleeping in the chair, Hercules stumbled into the main room of the house.

“Hercules! The trial – what happened?” Jason implored. “Did the ritual work?”

“We won!” Hercules answered. “And… we lost.”

“What do you mean? Is Pythagoras all right?”

“Yes, yes, or he will be. He had a little more trouble with the Furies, but he should be on the mend. Melas was brilliant. He’s the one who convinced the king to exercise his power over the Furies and show mercy that would make him popular with the people.”

Pythagoras had woken at Jason’s voice. “Jason? You’re back?” the mathematician rasped.

Jason and Hercules both went to him. “Yes, I’m back. How are you doing?” Jason asked.

“I’m feeling a little better.”

“No nightmares, I hope?”

Pythagoras smiled. “No. And thank you both for all you did for me.” He started trying to sit up.

Hercules stopped him. “Oh, no you don’t. You need to keep taking it easy for a while.” 

Jason turned toward Hercules. “What did you mean by we won and we lost the trial?”

Hercules let out a long, gusty breath. “Well, he’s still here; that’s the ‘win’ part, but starting the first of next month, we’re all sentenced to a month of indenture to Medios.”

“For what?! How is that possible?”

“Cilix had Medios testify against us, saying we broke our contract with him, so we’re all untrustworthy. Yes, I know, we returned the gold; that’s what I made sure to point out straightaway, but apparently Philemon was in our charge too, and failing to stop him from eloping with Baucis was breaking the contract and condoning betrayal of a father by his son.”

“That’s completely unreasonable!”

“Yes, but the fact that Medios is one of the king’s royal cronies will have had a lot to do with it.”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Pythagoras asked.

Hercules shrugged unhappily. “What we can do is count ourselves lucky that you’re still alive, and we can work together to endure whatever Medios has in store.”

Jason and Pythagoras both groaned.

“Where I come from there’s a saying that I think very much applies to this right now,” Jason commented.

“I think I know the one. You said it before once,” Pythagoras put in. “’No good deed ever goes unpunished.’”

“Actually I was thinking of ‘The gods must be crazy!’”


End file.
